Pages

10 August 2012

Thunderlord Stronghold (guest post!)

Dahakha sped through the night, barely
registering the receding lightning storms as he weaved his way
between dragon corpses impaled upon the spears of stone that gave
Blade's Edge Mountains their name.

His mind reeled. What in the name of
Mu'sha had happened back there? Why the....the
goblin...netherstorm.....ethereals.....it made no sense! He realised
that he was automatically winging his way towards Evergrove. After
thinking for a moment or two, he decided that although the comforts
of a druid grove were tempting, what he really needed were answers.
Banking south, Dahakha headed for Thunderlord Stronghold.

Flying in low over the moonlit
treetops, Dahakha landed on the walls of the stronghold. He scanned
the buildings.....there. The distinctive shapes of the windriders led
his eye to the nearby hut. With a hop he glided down to the open
doorway and shifted into his birth form. Inside was a young orc
sorting through scrolls on the candlelit table. At Dahakha's sudden
appearance, he gasped and shot to his feet, hand going to the handaxe
at his belt. Dahakha spread his hands wide to indicate peaceful
intentions, and as his tauren shape registered on the orc, the
tension in the air dissipated.

“Agadai. I need to speak with your
master immediately.”

The orc's face creased in confusion.
“Have we met?”

“What do you mean, have we met? It's
me, Dahakha!” At the orc's blank look, he sighed. “I helped you
with that windrider problem last year! You said that you would be in
my debt for eternity!” Still no flicker of recognition. He
twitched. “I brought that little orphan boy to see you a few weeks
ago? You showed him how you look after windriders? No?” He threw up
his hands in exasperation. “Is Unoke here? I need to speak to him
urgently.”

Agadai looked uncertain, but as he caught the dangerous
glint in Dahakha's eyes he quickly nodded and motioned for him to
wait. Disappearing upstairs, there was thumping and grumbling which
resolved in the clump of hooves on wood as a tauren climbed down the
ladder-like stairwell.

Unoke turned and froze at the sight of
Dahakha. His eyes darted around the room, to the doorway, out into
the night. Seemingly satisfied, but still very wary, the tauren
inspected Dahakha carefully. Uncomfortable under this unexpected
scrutiny, Dahakha found himself cracking his knuckles nervously. With
a mental shake he stilled his hands, and spoke to the windrider
master.

“Unoke. You do recognise me, right?”

“I.....am not certain.”

Dahakha twitched, frowning. “What is
that supposed to mean? We trained together back in Mulgore! How could
you not know who I am?!”

Unoke was still regarding him
suspiciously. “I know who you look like. I know who you claim to
be. But I do not believe it.”

“Gahhhhh! This is ridiculous! First
Agadai pretends to not know me, now you doubt your own eyes? You know
I am Dahakha! Why would you think otherwise?”, he bellowed in
frustration.

“I watched Dahakha die, in the
Orgrimmar arena. Hundreds of others saw it as well. You – he –
Dahakha was slain. There is no doubt about it.”

“But here I am!”

“But here you are.”

He twitched again. “Okay, I don't
know what the fel is going on here, but I need some answers. What is
this I hear about Cairne being dead and Baine becoming Chief of
Chiefs? Who is this Hellscream pretending to be the Warchief? It had
better not be that young idiot Garrosh.....”

Unoke looked at him strangely. “You
really don't know, do you?” At Dahakha's low growl of frustration
he waved to the table. “Okay, okay. Sit down. I will get us
something to drink. Then we can try to sort this out.”